


Blinded (shield your eyes)

by dishonestdreams



Series: Luminosity [3]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22745560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dishonestdreams/pseuds/dishonestdreams
Summary: Mikey fucks it up in Sacramento
Relationships: Frank Iero/Mikey Way
Series: Luminosity [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1630795
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Blinded (shield your eyes)

Mikey fucks it up in Sacramento.

They’re coming off stage when it happens: Gee all wide eyes and bright smile, bouncing on the balls of his feet as his excitement spills out of him; Ray running his fingers through his hair, projecting that aura of fierce pride that he only rolls out when the show has been _exceptionally_ good, and Frank laughing, loud and joyful, with his head thrown back and arms flung wide, his eyes alive and dancing with delight. 

And Mikey notices.

Because, of course he does. Because that’s what he and Frank _do_ now. Trading looks back and forth like they’re swapping secrets, and mostly Mikey doesn’t mind. Mostly, he likes it.

Well, no. He does mind, but it’s not because Frank notices him. Mikey wasn’t lying when he said he was okay with that. He _is_ okay with that.

It’s just…he wants more.

Now that Frank looks at him, _really_ looks at him in that intense way that he has, it’s like he’s given Mikey permission to think about it. And Mikey _does_, even though he probably shouldn’t, because Frank’s one of his best friends and that shit can get bad weirdly fast. He thinks about it a lot; in the calm moments before soundchecks and after shows, curled on the couch staring blindly at his phone or in the dark of the bus when everyone’s asleep and the highway is rolling quietly by. He thinks about it.

And he _wants_

It’s frustrating as all fuck, because what he really wants is for Frank to _fucking touch him_ already, and Frank doesn’t do that. Regardless of how much he looks, he never reaches out, not as anything other than Mikey’s bandmate, and Mikey’s not an idiot. Whatever he might think is there when Frank looks at him, he knows a brush-off when he sees one, and he’s not the kind of guy who doesn’t respect that. Mikey refuses to be _that_ guy with anyone, but especially not with Frank. Frank’s just too important and Mikey’s not an asshole. Or, at least, not _that_ much of an asshole. 

He still fucking _wants_.

He’s dropped behind the rest of his band without planning to, slipping into his spot at the back because that’s just what he _does_ and Frank glances over his shoulder, his expression searching. Mikey already knows what he’s looking for before Frank spots him, because this is what _they_ do, and he quirks an eyebrow when he catches Frank’s eye. Frank grins, a satisfied curl of his mouth that matches the glint in his eyes, and he reaches back to catch hold of Mikey’s shirt and tug him forward.

Mikey lets himself be moved, exhilarated and exhausted enough that he’s tripping over his own feet, dizzy from his post-show high and daring in a way he normally isn’t. Maybe that’s why he does it; he doesn’t know. He isn’t thinking. 

He steps in close, wraps a hand round the back of Frank’s neck, and kisses him.

As kisses go, it’s nothing special. Just the sweat-sticky warmth of Frank’s skin under his palm and the press of Frank’s lips on his, soft except for where his lip ring bites against Mikey’s mouth. It’s positively fucking _chaste_, Mikey thinks giddily, nothing compared to what they do on stage every night in front of arenas filled with screaming fans.

And yet. It doesn’t feel like any kiss Mikey’s ever had before. It’s so, _so_ much better, and Mikey’s eyes slip closed. He can feel Frank’s pulse under his fingertips, fluttering fast and off-beat, and there’s a familiar scent of spice and sweat and smoke in his nostrils that makes his mouth water. He tightens his grip instinctively.

And then his brain catches up with his body.

“…the fuck,” Gee says, from somewhere behind him, just as Mikey _jerks_, his eyes flying open and then widening in horror as reality crashes in. He stumbles backward, his fingers slipping from Frank’s neck as his awareness of _exactly_ what he’s doing sharpens, and he flails a little bit, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

“Um,” he says, and then he trails off, scrubbing his hand viciously through his hair, because what the _fuck_ is he supposed to say when he can still taste hints of Frank’s mouth on his lips? _Sorry I’m a giant creep, man, didn’t mean to jump you, can we just forget about it_.

Yeah, right. That'll work. Jesus _fuck_.

Frank meets his eyes, his own narrowed and his expression edged with something Mikey doesn’t immediately recognise, and Mikey flinches guiltily, cutting his gaze away sharply. Whatever Frank’s thinking, he’s not sure he wants to hear it.

He’s positive he doesn’t want to hear it _here_.

“Sorry,” he says to Frank’s shoes, because he needs to get out of there and he can’t look at Frank, but he owes him this much. “_Fuck_. Sorry.”

He daren’t give Frank time to answer before he’s moving, squeezing past an amp and elbowing his way past Ray and Gee with an ease built from years of practice.

He’s running by the time he hits the corridor.


End file.
